


Winter in Wisconsin (I)

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Series: Winter in Wisconsin [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is 18. Sam is 14. John takes the boys up to Wisconsin for a hunt. Sam loves the snow, something happens in the woods, Dean takes care of Sam and John is an angry papa (that about sums it up for this chapter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter in Wisconsin (I)

**Author's Note:**

> My intention for this fic is to pretty much to keep me occupied for the winter. Lots of plans for it. There will be Wincest/Weecest. That will come. This chapter is just kind of setting the mood and plot for now. :) Stay tuned for more !

It was December in Wisconsin, and John had taken his boys up to the north because the only thing Sammy wanted for Christmas this year was to see snow. Not, mind you, because there happened to be a clan of werewolves turning folk in the town of Ackley. John had heard about the hunt from a contact of his he had worked with a few years back. Jim was a good guy. A fierce hunter. So when he phoned up one sleepless night spent in another run-down motel somewhere south of Tulsa, John didn’t hesitate to pack up the bags and load them into the ’67 Impala along with his two sons.

Of course, he told Dean the real reason for the sudden road trip. Dean never put up a fight. He knew that the hunt came first and he trusted his dad with every decision he made, even though he was old enough to make his own. John could always count on him to back him up with whatever he needed. Eighteen years old and already had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sammy was a different story. Would express his distaste for every night spent trying to sleep soundly driving down some unknown highway, always a different one, by not talking to John or by spitting out the occasional snarky remark. He was too young, didn’t understand the family business yet. Took out his anger on the only one who ever thought it best to “teach him a lesson” every now and then on what was expected of a Winchester. They were hunters. This was what they did. And yet somehow Sammy still wanted _normal._ John could tell. Could tell with every protest he made at the mention of another road trip. Every sigh he gave when John said _he’d be back, just had to take care of a few things._ So to avoid another sluggish fuss, John told his youngest son that he decided to give Sam what he wanted this year. Sam seemed to find that hard to believe. He exchanged a look with Dean, who shrugged and slid into the passenger seat of the Impala.

 

The drive up to Wisconsin took a few days. At a pit stop somewhere in Chicago, John pumped the car with gas while Dean gathered some snacks inside the convenience store. Sam was up against the window, sprawled out in the backseat when Dean slipped back in and tossed him a bag of pretzels.

“Eat something. Put some meat on those bones,” Dean said as he opened his own bag of barbeque chips and popped one in his mouth. Even though Sammy was only fourteen, he was almost as big as Dean already, all arms and legs. His voice was a little behind, though, all pitchy and unsure of itself.

Dad was inside the store now, paying the guy.

Sam looked at the bag questionably before opening it carefully. “We’re not just going for the snow, are we, Dean?”

Dean stilled for a second in the front seat, before digging into his bag again and tossing another chip in his mouth. He knew his brother wasn’t stupid, he just didn’t think he would have caught on before they even got to the damn place. He didn’t exactly want to lie, but he didn’t want to kill Sam’s mood for the rest of the trip, either. “Yeah, of course we are. Dude, do you know how badly I’ve been waiting to duke it out with snowballs? You are so going down.”

Sam smirked, crunched down on a pretzel, then pulled his knees up to his chest.

 

xxx

 

Sam first saw the snow from the car window, pressing his forehead against the glass, watching it fog up, watching outside.

“There’s your snow, Sammy,” Dean said from the front seat.

The snow fell in huge flakes, and luckily it was just before dusk, so Sam could see them perfectly, blowing around their car, landing on the windows. Sam couldn’t help but let a smile creep up his lips, huge eyes fixated on the passing specks. Dean’s head poked over the seat to look at him, and the two of them were at it within seconds, Dean poking and prodding his little brother and Sam shoving back. Dean couldn’t help it. But the look on Sammy’s face was priceless and it made him just as eager as Sam was, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He made fun of Sam for it, but Sam was too excited to care.

“Alright, settle down,” John interrupted, his eyes on the road. Then he got a phone call and they fell silent when he flipped the cell open. “Jim, yeah.”

Dean’s arm hung over the seat as he exchanged glances with first Dad and then a now very serious Sam.

“Yeah. Gotcha. I’m almost at the cabin.” When John snapped the phone shut, the atmosphere in the car seemed to drop, silent and heavy.

“Who’s Jim?” Sam asked after a few moments. His voice was dark, low.

“Sam, don’t start,” was all John said from the front seat.

Dean flashed him a sympathetic look. It offered Sam a silent apology that also said he knew all along what Dad had been planning.

Sam slunk back against the leather, folding his arms across his chest. So he had been right. They had both been lying to him for the past three days. That fact bugged him more than the actual thought that this trip hadn’t just been for him – obviously he knew there was something fishy with that to begin with – but the idea that his own family couldn’t even have the decency to be honest with him just got under his skin.

“Why did you lie?” The question was addressed more at Dean than at Dad, and Dean couldn’t help but bite his tongue as his stomach sank.

“Sammy, we didn’t lie… not exactly…” Dean started, hesitant. Looked at John.

“Oh, for God’s sakes,” John interrupted. “There’s a clan of werewolves… Actually, Jim thinks it’s more of a family… They’re turning people. They have to be taken out. He can’t do it alone.”

Sam only shook his head and stared back out the window. He wasn’t looking at the snow the same way anymore. Actually, Dean wasn’t sure he was even looking at the snow at all. His gaze seemed somewhere much, much farther, his soft features hardened, unreadable.

 

 

xxx

 

The cabin was small and cozy, fully furnished, with a fireplace and a large window in the front that opened up to a perfect Christmas-card view of the snow and trees outside. It was all one floor. There were two bedrooms at the back, one for Dad and one for Sam and Dean. Dad still made them share a bed or a room every time they stayed somewhere, because it was too expensive to get them their own. Not that they really minded. They were so used to it it was just second nature.

This bedroom was nice, it was hard for Sam to think it wasn’t some elaborate vacation Dad had planned. Obviously he knew it wasn’t. He could just maybe pretend it was.

Dean tossed his bag on the bed nearest to the door because he knew that Sam would want the one closest to the window so he could watch the snow fall as he fell asleep.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Sam asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Dean unpack his things and put them in drawers. He wasn’t sure how much information Dad had given Dean, but he seemed to know a lot more than Sam did.

“Whenever Dad is done with his hunt. Couple of weeks, probably,” Dean said nonchalantly, shutting the top drawer and starting on the middle one. He was only using one side of them, leaving the other for Sam’s stuff.

“We’re spending Christmas here?” Sam asked, trying to act casual even though it was hard keeping the excitement from his voice.

Dean smirked. “Yeah, guess so.”

John was on the phone again. Dean strained to overhear his conversation, but only got a few words: “Okay,” “will do,” and “ten tomorrow. Copy that.”

 

“Boys,” John called from the front of the cabin after a few minutes. “I’m going out to pick up some supplies; mostly food and stuff. I’ll be back in an hour. Stay here.”

 

So Sam took that opportunity to get his coat and boots back on and coax Dean into joining him outside.

“Sam, Dad told us to stay inside,” Dean asserted, watching as Sam tugged his left boot on hurriedly, clumsily.

“No, he said stay _here_. I’m just going out in the front. Come on,” he enticed Dean, retrieving a hat from his puffy jacket pocket and sloppily fitting it on his head. He didn’t even wait for Dean to reply or contend, simply spun around on his heel and opened the front door, letting in a gust of wind and a wisp of snow flurries.

Dean couldn’t exactly protest that, especially seeing how happy it made his little brother. He followed outside after a few moments, shutting the door behind him. He noticed that Sam was already out of hearing range, a wandering red blur swerving around the snow-covered trees playfully.

“Sam! You’re ‘gonna get it!” Dean chased after him, suddenly all smiles and mischief. He heard Sammy squeal and giggle as he tossed a head behind him and started to run, to let himself be chased throughout the maze of trees. The wind and snow (dying out now that they were encompassed by the canopy of trees) hitting Dean’s face was like a thousand needles, but he loved it. Loved it all: the thrill of his heart racing in his chest, the invigorating sound of his boots crunching against the snow, feet moving too fast for his body, not knowing if he would fall or not – not that it would matter if he did. The snow was thick, like a blanket on the bed of the forest, untouched except for the small trail of Sammy’s sporadic footprints that Dean followed with such earnest.

Sam wove through the trees, light on his feet and quick, but every now and then Dean would catch glimpses of him through the trees, hear his breathy laughter echoing throughout the woods, and it only made him want to reach him sooner. To catch his prey.

Sam was out of breath as he hid behind the trunk of a wide tree, trying to listen past the sound of his own heaving for Dean’s heavy boots against the snow. The moment seemed to last forever. Almost too long. But then, just as he decided to peak his head around the tree for any sign of his brother, his hunter, Dean appeared before him, wide-eyed and a devilish grin spread across his freckled face.

“Gotcha!” He exclaimed, pinning Sam to the trunk of the tree. His eyes shone, revealing a wild hunger in him, steady and determined.

“No fair!” Sam just laughed, his chest rising and falling still, his voice high and pitchy and emitting tiny clouds of white.

Dean didn't let him go, almost as though he wasn't quite sure what to do now that the hunt was over. Instead they just breathed together, almost in sync but not quite, Sam's breaths slightly shorter, more abrupt. Dean looked over Sam's gentle features, his damp rosy skin.

Dean's bright eyes bore into Sam, holding him in place almost as tight as his actual physical weight. Sam's world was spinning in time with his thumping heart.

He shifted slightly under Dean's hold, impish smile returning. “Dean!”

Then, in a sudden movement, Dean couldn't help but mock a low growl as he playfully pretended to be a wolf devouring the flighty deer. Sam spiritedly protested, pushing him away with flailing limbs and letting out an uncontrollable giggle when Dean's hot breath ghosted over his neck.

Sam managed to squirm out as Dean's grip loosened and toppled over his own feet with a dull thud, forgetting that they weighed twice as much now, encompassed by clunky boots and snow.

Their laughter died down, and then there was a soft rustle in the distance, far away but close enough to hear with startling clarity. Sam's eyes widened, his knees shifting open in the snow.

Dean strained to hear the noise again, shushing Sam when he went to speak.

And then there it was again. Only it actually sounded closer this time, and louder - the crunch of snow, the rustle of branches being pushed aside.

"Sam, get up," Dean ordered, quickly, cautiously. On his guard, he walked toward the noise, past Sam. Yeah, it still could have just been a rabbit or a fox, but this was them. When was it ever just a rabbit or a fox? Dean silently cursed himself for not bringing any weapons with him. Hell, it wasn't exactly like he could just stroll on back to the cabin and pick up the .45. He didn't even know which way the cabin was from here, let alone how far. And then it hit him hard, the resentment he felt towards himself for not protesting this little escapade further. Keeping Sammy safe and sound, inside.

Pressed up against a tree, Dean slowly peered around it, eyes darting back and forth for any sign of danger.

"Dean –" Sam's voice came from behind him, hushed and contemplative.

"Sam," Dean cut him off. "Get back to the cabin."

"What? No way –"                        

"Sam, this isn't up for discussion. Go, now."

Realizing the haste in Dean's voice, Sam's stomach began to churn with anxiety. "But I don't know which –"

"Follow our trail from before. Go!" Dean just wanted Sam safe. The tight knot in his stomach grew, and he had a terrible feeling inside him.

The silence of the forest was suddenly too much, too quiet it was almost piercing, the whistle of the wind echoing through the treetops. Dean could hear Sam's footsteps gradually trailing away rapidly, and he knew it was up to him now. Only him. And whatever this thing was, he would get it.

But he waited for another noise, a rustle, a crunch, anything, and it never came. He darted around in place, circling trees, as if silently beckoning it, impatient.

And then, as if out of nowhere, he heard a sound. It was a horrifying, sickening, heart-wrenching sound. And it wasn't the sound he had been expecting to hear. In fact, it was the last sound he ever wanted to hear. It was the shrill screech of his little brother screaming, screaming his name.

Dean's heart almost dropped right out of his body. "Sam!" He yelled, frantically bolting through the trees, not even following the trail, just following the direction of Sam's voice. Branches whipped at his face, the snow that sunk under his feet suddenly relentless hands grabbing at his ankles. The wheezing sound of his own heaves throbbed in his ears. "Sam!"

And then Dean was able to make out where Sam was, little flashes of red in between endless strips of bark giving away his position. "Sammy!" He called to him, and now he could manage to make out what was going on. Sam was on the ground, but something else was on top of him, crushing him. It looked like some sort of fleshy... No, hairy... _Oh, god_...

Dean definitely knew a werewolf when he saw one. He had killed a total of four werewolves so far in his life. Enough to know that they were _not_ easy to take down. Especially single-handedly. Especially if you were a fourteen year old kid who hadn't had too much hands-on experience with hunting yet.

"Hey, you ugly fucker!" And as soon as the thing heard Dean, its head shot around. And in one sickening flash Dean noticed that the thing's teeth were glistening red and it made his stomach clench. _Sam's blood._ "Yeah, you! Get the fuck off my brother!" And Dean wasn't sure why, but the stupid thing _ran_ , just bolted away with its huge gangly limbs, and Dean wanted nothing more than to chase it down and slaughter it, but he had no weapons, and Sammy was on the ground and he needed him.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice came out shaky and guttural, and he collapsed next to Sam in the snow, noticing that a few vibrant red spots lay on it, next to Sam's exposed stomach.

"Sammy, hey," Dean couldn't help it but he was shaking so bad, and everywhere, at the sight. Sam lay sprawled on the snow, and his red jacket was wet and torn open, exposing his flesh underneath. There was a huge gash over his chest and ribs that was leaking, seeping rich crimson.

"Dean..." His voice was feeble and scratchy, and he tried to push himself up on his elbows, wincing terribly as he did so.

"Hey, take it easy, ok? Come on, I gotcha." Dean took Sammy in his arms gently, slowly. Together they walked back along the trail of their footprints, Sam's arm hanging languidly over Dean's supporting shoulders.

"That son of a bitch is going down!" Dean shouted into the air, at no one in particular.

Sam limped along, clutching onto Dean, onto his own stomach. "Could have been worse, Dean."

"What are you talking about? Look at you, look how much blood you're losing."

"I could have been dead. _Would_ have been, if it weren't for you... I didn't know what to do... I always thought I'd know what to do... Thought I was ready..." Sam winced again, drawing in a breath, trying to push past another hurdle of pain.

"Shhh, don't talk. It's okay. We're almost there, okay? I’m ‘gonna take care of you."

Then the cabin was visible again, a dark brown smudge coming into view. They couldn't arrive fast enough. Dean just wanted to get Sammy inside, patched up and warm.

And then Sam seemed to go limper in his arms.

"Sammy? Hey," Dean looked down at him and now Sam's head hung and bobbed around heavily. He must have lost too much blood and passed out, because as soon as Dean stopped to get a better hold on him, his knees went out too. "Sam! Damn it!"

Dean carried Sam the rest of the way, and silently thanked god he was still just the right size to slump over his shoulder. It was getting dark now, and this walk seemed so much shorter on the way _in_ the forest.

Finally, impossibly, Dean arrived at the cabin and went in, instantly met by the stern voice of his father first demanding to know where he was (apparently they had been gone a lot longer than it seemed to Dean), then urging to know what the hell happened. He placed Sam down on the couch before instantly searching for the damn first aid kit he was sure was in his bag but apparently it wasn't so that meant it was still in the impala, ignoring every question and remark his father shot at him.

Met with the cool air again, Dean dug through the trunk of the impala as John followed close behind. "Dean, god damnit, answer me!"

"What, Dad? What do you want me to say? I should have listened to you? I should have kept Sammy inside? I know all of that already!" Dean shouted in the evening air, grateful that there was probably nobody around for miles to hear their pathetic argument. He felt like he was ten years old again, and had completely disobeyed his father's direct orders. He felt so stupid. Nothing his dad could say could make him feel any worse than the things he was telling himself over and over in his head.

"Dean, I gave you specific instructions to stay put. You knew why we were here and it wasn't for the damn snow. You know what's out there!"

Dean finally retrieved the goddamn first aid kit (it was a Winchester first aid kit, and therefore it was huge - bulky and heavy in his hand), and pushed past Dad to get back to Sammy. He pulled up the table and sat on it, in front of Sam and the fire which Dad had probably started before they got back, because it was burning hot now, and crackling softly.

Dean gently tugged Sam’s jacket off his arms, careful of his wound. It looked ten times worse now that he could see it more clearly, and Dad hissed at the sight and came closer with a wet rag that he handed to Dean. Dean used it to dab at the wound gently, cleaning it and applying pressure to stop whatever blood that was still flowing out.

“What attacked him, Dean? Answer me,” John asked, still just as stern but with less urgency.

Dean kept at his work, his hands busied by digging through the kit and retrieving and cutting huge strips of white gauze. “Werewolf.”

“Damnit, Dean! I leave you alone for one hour,” John boomed. “I thought I could trust you with that, with Sammy.”

Dean cringed at the words _thought_ and _trust_. And then his hands couldn’t work, were so heavy, shaking, disobedient. He clenched them into fists, trying to steady himself. “Dad, you can. I messed up. I messed up big. I’m sorry, alright? I –”

“Just fix it, Dean. Clean up your mess.” John walked away just as his phone rang and he flipped it open with a “yeah.”

Dean’s stomach felt like it had been torn out, turned inside out and then shoved back in sideways. He was filled to the brim with boiling rage, toward his father, toward the ugly son of a bitch that did this, but mostly toward himself. As much as Dad made his blood churn, he knew he was right.

 _Sammy. He had to put all of this aside. Sammy needed him. And that’s what was important right now. Nothing else._   

He silently went back to work, looking over the wound once more, wishing he could take back the last hour. He proceeded to clean it up by dabbing some hydrogen peroxide on the cloth, and when it touched Sammy’s broken flesh he stirred, woke up.

“Dean…” His voice was as soft as the crackle of the logs beside them.

“Hey, tiger,” Dean lulled, not removing the pressure even when Sam tried to push himself up. “Alright, alright, take it easy. Let me patch you up before you get back in the race, Andretti.”

Sam winced as he sat up on the couch, carefully guided by Dean.

Dean could feel Sam’s eyes burning holes into him, but he didn’t dare meet them. He couldn’t, not now. Didn’t want to see the pain behind his expression, hidden somewhere underneath those glossy eyes, under the look of forgiveness he gave Dean far too often.

Dean lifted Sam’s sodden and frayed t-shirt off carefully, peeling it past his shoulders when Sam lifted his arms to help. Sam was still looking at him, trying to catch his gaze, but Dean looked everywhere else, at where he put the shirt after it was off, at the strips of gauze he took up beside him. He slid the table that he was sitting on in closer, and then he felt both of Sam’s hands go on either of his knees. For support, most likely. And then Dean’s hands went steady because they needed to for this. They found Sam’s damaged flesh, red and puffy scratches across his ribs on the right side. The skin looked like it was ablaze, dancing with the shadows of the flames from the fireplace. Dean winced slightly, as though the pain was his own. And then he placed the gauze over it, and when he brought his hands around to the back to wrap it around, once, twice, Sam leaned into him. Pressed his heavy head against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean could hear and feel his breaths, laborious and hot. Dean retreated slightly to fumble for the medical tape that was in the pile next to him, and then brought it back again to seal the fabric with three thick strips at Sam’s back.

“All done, kiddo.” Dean gently pulled Sam upright again by the shoulders, and Sam just smiled at him through hooded lids and said “thanks,” so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“How you holding up?”

“I’m good, Dean. Real good. Thanks to you.”

Dean almost scoffed. “Yeah. Thanks to me,” his tone was low and drenched in sarcasm.

“What? It’s true, Dean, if I –”

“It’s thanks to me you’re even in this mess. I should have never left you alone, I should have never let you go… if I had been a moment later… Who knows what would have…” He struggled between trying to find the right words and keeping his composure.

“Dean’s right, Sam.” Dad came into the room clicking his phone shut and putting it in his back pocket. “It was his mistake to let you out of his sight.”

“But he was just trying to keep me safe! He didn’t know this would happen.”

“Dean, can I talk to you for a minute, in the kitchen?” Dad disregarded Sam’s protests. “Sam, you should get some rest.”

Sam bit his tongue. As Dean stood, Sam gave him a look of sympathy for the injustice.

 

“I don’t want Sam involved in this hunt. He’s too young, this is too much for him. It’s not just some haunting in Iowa. This is the real deal. A whole clan of those blood-thirsty beasts that just tried to rip his heart out.”

Dean nodded hard, understanding.

John waited, letting his words sink in. “That means that I want you to stay with him. While I’m gone. Keep him _safe_ , Dean…”

Dean let out a breath, relieved. Dad still trusted him with Sammy, even after what just happened.

“Now, I _can_ count on you with that, can’t I?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, sir.”  

 

Of course, John knew Sammy was the single most important thing in Dean’s life without having to ever hear him say it, so he knew that Dean would always put Sam before himself. He hated having to be hard on him the way he always was, but it was important. If a boy can’t learn discipline, he can’t learn to survive on his own, either. John knew the day would come when he would have to pass on the torch of the family business to his sons. It was his job to have them ready. And Dean was, for the most part. But sometimes he made a few slipups. Like today.

“How did you let it get away?” John asked him.

Dean scrubbed at his face. “I don’t know, it just – it just ran.”

 “Did you at least see where it went?”

Dean regretted to shake his head. “Sammy needed me. And it was too fast.”

John sighed. “I’m leaving with Jim in the morning. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. The city’s infested with these guys, but what we’re really looking for is their nest. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Don’t make me regret this.”

 

xxx

 

Sam slept the rest of the night, only waking up once to Dean telling him he should eat something and pressing a bowl of stew in his lap, and once more to shuffle into the kitchen and retrieve a glass of water. Nobody was awake the second time, but Sam noticed Dean slumped over the couch opposite him, looking terribly uncomfortable. He smirked at that, at the sight of his older brother there, at the thought that he had the option of sleeping in a comfortable bed but decided to stay with Sam instead. The crackle of the fire was pleasantly resounding, a calming melody that allowed Sam to drift slowly back into sleep again despite the burn in his side.


End file.
